


Face the Storm

by aqueentorattlestars



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Cassian loses his wings, Gen, acowar au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 17:09:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqueentorattlestars/pseuds/aqueentorattlestars
Summary: Cassian reflects back on past conversations he had with Rhysand's mother and draws on those conversations to speak to his troops.





	Face the Storm

_‘Cassian’, she whispered, a soothing voice to calm the rage that shook the boy’s shoulders. The Illyrian woman watched; her eyes and heart brimming with sorrow for a child too young. Too young abandoned to the mountains; motherless, fatherless, alone in the world. Too young for such a brutal, hostile life; but such were the ways of their warrior race. ‘Cassian,’ she tried again, a hand reaching to touch the bruised and swollen cheek, ‘I know that storm that is raging in your heart. It is a tempest of anger, deadly and if you give over to it… It will destroy you.’ A pause as Cassian shifted, yearning for a mother’s touch but unable to give over to her. She smiled softly, withdrawing her hand, and continued leaking words of wisdom into a young mind, ‘Your heart is too good—too courageous… Too valiant for such hate. You must face that storm, dear one. Look at it into the eye and control it. Face the storm. And when you do… you do not fear… you do not falter. You do not yield.’ By this time, he had turned full attention to the mother he never had._

The memory faded from his mindseye, nothing more than wisps of shadow, until all that was left was that gentle voice. Those three sentences reverberated in his mind; the power of them licking in his veins and stoking the flames of courage. War did not allow for such pleasures of reminiscing. As the scars on his back bespoke—prized wings amputated. He remembered when the healers had revealed that the wings would have to be amputated to stave off infection. He had hated the pity in their eyes; hated when people said they  _took_  his wings from him. The dangerous, feral part of him snarled at the implication—that the bastards had stolen freedom from him. No. They had not taken anything; Cassian gave his wings to uphold a promise. A promise to protect.   
  
A vow he was not yet ready to break.  
  
His eyes swept over the war room. Cold calculating in their evaluation of the warriors gathered there. Each face burned into his soul; eyes haunted by blood-slickened battlegrounds, but none ready to admit defeat. They looked to him for strategy. They looked to him for hope that they stood a chance against their enemies. They waited with bated breath for what would come from their commander.   
  
“Our enemy is great. You know what they are capable of; you know their strength and the blasphemous goal they have. But… Ours is greater,” he started, looking each member in the eyes as his speech progressed, “They wish for death. We stand for life and for freedom. We stand for our brothers, sisters, family, and friends. We stand for those unable to fight back.  _We_   _will not fall_.” Red siphons gleamed in the firelight and Cassian took a steadying breath before his voice rippled across the room; his words mingled with the woman’s who had claimed him as her son, “You will face them on the battle field today. And when you do…  **You will not fear… You will not falter. You will not yield**.”


End file.
